The Chalupa Conundrum

by Lyle Christie

  I dropped onto the throne and moved ever so slightly fore and aft until finding just the right position before turning my thoughts to vacating my bowels. I imagined myself as a B-17 Flying Fortress sailing along in the skies over Europe circa WWII, but my target wasn’t a railroad yard or factory. It was a vast oval shaped lake, and my bomb bay was filled with fecal projectiles. They weren’t as aerodynamic or explosive as their metallic combustable counterparts, and they generally lacked in serious megaton power—this morning anyway. My inner pilot signaled we were over the target, and I released the payload and began my assault on Lake Shitzenploppin.

  Things were going smoothly, and the skies clear of enemy fire as I casually glanced at the door and wondered if it would burst open with Fabiana storming in to deliver an ear load of flack. It was entirely irrational and bordered on insanity, but being so vulnerable left me open to the rampant wanderings of my very vivid imagination. In spite of that I finished! I actually fucking finished then managed to flush, vacate the pot, and wash my hands without so much as a hey how are you.

  “We made it,” I said, looking down at my porcelain mistress.

  Just then, the door opened, and in walked Fabiana, looking happy that I had trusted her enough to leave the door unlocked. Of course, it was still too soon for an entrance in my opinion, as the dump air didn’t have adequate time to dissipate—though I wasn’t an accurate judge because my sense of smell had already adapted. I watched her closely for a reaction, but there was nothing to see, so the air had potentially cleared or she had an impressive poker face, no sense of smell, or she just didn’t give a flying fuck about my bodily functions. Whatever the case, I wanted to think of it as a win, because I didn’t need any more bad luck on this case and especially after last night’s multiple revelations.

  “I wanted to brush my teeth again,” she said.

  “Go right ahead. I’m getting in the shower.”

  “Do you need any help washing anything?”

  “Other than my penis, I’m probably good.”

  “Well, tell me when you get to it.”

  “I will,” I said, as I stepped into the shower, turned on the taps, and stood beneath the onslaught of rushing hot water.

  I applied shampoo then shaved in the shower sans a mirror and did a pretty good and managed to avoid accidentally cutting myself. I lathered up with soap, rinsed, and exited to dry off, and I felt ready for the day ahead. There was nothing like a night of sex followed by a morning of coffee and a fine dump and shower to get the day off to a good start. I rejoined Fabiana, who was still in her towel as she hadn’t yet decided what to wear. It must be tough when everything you owned looked great on you.

  “I guess, I’ll call my friend now,” I said.

  “The one you sent the pic to?” she asked.

  “One and the same, and, by the way, he thought I Photoshopped you and me together in that pic!”

  “Too funny. Perhaps we should FaceTime him—from the bed!”

  “Seriously?”

  “Why not?”

  “Awesome! I’ll start close then pan over in order to build up some nice dramatic tension.”

  The two of us got naked, slipped into bed, and I dialed Doug and felt that my deep inner prankster was about to explode with joy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Binary in the Tropic of Cancer

  DOUG ANSWERED HIS phone on the second ring, which was one ring earlier than usual. He liked to make me wait, sometimes as long as four or five rings depending on his mood. Two rings meant he was anxious, probably about the photo I sent, as, in Doug’s mind, an obsession with a particular supermodel was comparable in importance to a nuclear threat.

  “Ha! I was just about to call you! I’m FaceTiming with Beeber right now, and he’s very impressed with your latest Photoshop skills.”

  “So, you two fuckers were literally discussing it right before I called?”

  “Well, actually we’ve been discussing it for the last hour and a half.”

  “I’ve really gotten that good?”

  “Yep, now let me add Beebs in,” he said.

  Doug added Beeber, and now I could see the two of them side by side—Doug on the left and Beeber on the right.

  “Finn, I don’t know how you pulled this one off. My software says it’s a legitimate picture of you and Fabiana. There’s no mismatched shadows or clear pixel evidence where you copy pasted either your head or hers.”

  “Well, thanks, Beebs, but the truth of my talent is actually a lack of talent. I haven’t gotten any better than when I pasted those pictures of you two on those cows.”

  “Nice try, but believe me when I say that Doug and I will eventually get to the bottom of this one.”

  “Let me save you some time, because I need you to be working on something more important.”

  “What’s more important than a naked supermodel?” Doug asked.

  “Good question. Why don’t we ask one,” I said, turning the camera just enough to show that Fabiana and I were in bed together.

  We were both naked from the waist up, and while it seemed a little crude to subject Fabiana to the Nerd’s prying eyes, she was a willing participant in my evil plan to screw with their gifted though unusual minds.

  “Hello, boys. I agree with you about the whole supermodel thing,” she said, flashing her famous supermodel smile.

  “Where did you get the lookalike? She looks so authentic, even down to the freckle above her left boob,” Beeber said.

  “You weren’t kidding about these two,” Fabiana said, to me.

  “Nope. They really are your biggest fans.”

  “Bullshit! She has to be fake!” Beeber squeaked.

  “Maybe it’s some kind of app filter,” Doug suggested.

  “It’s not an app. I’m real, and I have a way to prove it.”

  Beeber and Doug smiled confidently figuring this would ultimately uncover my diabolical scheme.

  “OK, go ahead,” Beeber said.

  “Now then, if you’re such big fans, then you should know a lot about me, so ask me any question.”

  Doug thought a moment then smiled.

  “What time of day were you born?”

  “Two a.m. on a Saturday morning. Come on, you can do better than that.”

  “What’s your favorite pastime?” Beeber asked.

  “Swimming.”

  “How old were you when you won your first meet?” Doug asked.

  “Sixteen, and it was for the all Brazil championships.”

  “She’s pretty good,” Beeber said.

  “She’s better than that—she’s super,” I responded.

  Doug tapped a few keys on another computer that was sitting just out of view then looked up and smiled confidently.

  “OK, I have something that’ll settle this little charade once and for all. What was your reduced amount of taxable capital gain for your mutual fund dividends in 2017?” Doug asked smugly.

  “In only the United States?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Automatically invested in extra shares, or purposefully invested for the year 2017?” she added.

  “Um—automatically invested.”

  “Oh, come on! Her accountant couldn’t even answer that question,” I said.

  “True, because I don’t use an accountant, but I do know the answer. It’s $361,106 dollars.”

  Doug was suddenly quiet, and his eyes were wide open and unblinking, and the skin of his jaw was the only thing keeping it from hitting the floor.

  “Wait, she didn’t actually answer correctly did she?” Beeber squeaked in the background.

  “She did,” Doug said, his eyes still unable to blink.

  “But—but—but—how?” Beeber mumbled.

  “You desk jockeys might understand if you ever got out into the real world.”

  “Wait a minute. Now, I have a question,” Fabiana said.

  “What is it?” Doug asked dreamily.

  “How in the hell did you hav
e that information?”

  “Doug, by nature of his job, has access to pretty much everything,” I answered.

  “Even my tax information?”

  “Yeah, and for him that’s about a two-second task.”

  “I’m sorry, but I really need to know how the hell you two hooked up,” Doug said.

  “We met at a pool.”

  “A pool?”

  “Yeah, a pool. Are you forgetting that she’s a champion swimmer?”

  “Where was this pool?”

  “In Costa Rica, of course—where all supermodels come to play,” Fabiana said.

  “But, why Finn?” Beeber squeaked.

  “Do you really need to ask?” Fabiana said, in a condescending tone.

  “No,” Beeber and Doug both grumbled at exactly the same time.

  “Now, that we’re over your temporary shock, I have some important tasks for you guys. First and foremost some info on some additional assholes.”

  “Um—what?” Doug asked, apparently not paying any attention to me.

  “I said that I need you to look into some more assholes.”

  “Assholes? Look into whose assholes?”

  “People, I’m referring to people, not their actual assholes, you asshole.”

  “Oh, yeah, of course. Give me their names.”

  “That’s it? Give me their names? No back talk? No jabs about my profession? No reference to Magnum PI?” I asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “And I can help if you need it,” Beeber said.

  Sweet mother of goats. I needed a supermodel around more often. I never imagined her presence would put Doug and Beeber into such a helpful state. I guess it didn’t hurt that she was also topless at the moment.

  “OK, I already gave you Hector Gomez, but I need you to find out anything you can about some Von Träger employees. The first is an American named Nathan Pearson, and the second is a current or former British citizen named Wainright.”

  “No first name?”

  “I met him as Doctor Wainright, and I imagine there can’t be too many researchers with the last name Wainright working at Von Träger Pharmaceuticals.”

  “Probably not. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “So, how can I help?” Beeber asked.

  “First, you can show us your hands. I don’t want you secretly masturbating while we talk.”

  “Very funny, Finn.”

  “Yeah, now show me your hands.”

  He groaned then lifted his hands up in front of the camera.

  “Closer,” I said.

  He moved them closer, and, while his right hand appeared slightly more red than his left, I decided to accept his statement.

  “I need you to find the origin or administrator of the URL goodtimespharma.com/sexstasy. The login name is do-you-like-sex, and the password is hell-yeah—with hyphens between each word.”

  “Are you trying to order free Viagra over the internet?” Beeber asked.

  “As far as I can tell he doesn’t need it,” Fabiana said.

  Doug and Beeber both groaned in mutual disgust.

  “Now, gentle nerds, the website is apparently a place for people to report their experiences regarding an off-the-books clinical trial of a new recreational drug called Sexstasy.”

  “Wait, seriously?”

  “Yeah, and let me tell you—it’s amazing. It increases libido, reduces inhibition, and causes euphoria.”

  “What are the bad side effects?” Beeber asked.

  “Mild memory loss in high doses.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I was accidentally dosed.”

  “And what does this have to do with Von Träger Pharmaceuticals?” Beeber asked.

  “Very good question, and, at the moment, it’s all purely circumstantial, but I suspect you might find some kind of connection.”

  “OK, I can do that.”

  “Awesome! How long will it take?”

  “Oh, I’d say about as long as it will take.”

  Beeber loved to be difficult.

  “Which is how long?”

  “Depends, but I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  “So, you’ll work on it the same way you have sex.”

  “Exactly—long, drawn out, and on a bed of fresh rose petals.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I got Fabiana’s calendar. That’s the background behind her October picture.”

  “Does Rachel know about your calendar?” I asked.

  Rachel was Beeber’s fiancé and by all respects a beautiful and intelligent woman who was well out of Beeber’s perceived league. He was lucky to have her, but men, even those with very attractive partners, could have the irrational ability to mentally stray from the nest and develop bizarre attractions to the unattainable—the case in point being a supermodel named Fabiana. Of course, this was only one of the many fantasies residing in Beeber’s strange though gifted mind. Under vast quantities of alcohol, he had once divulged his secret theory that books could be windows into parallel realities, and one day he hoped to transcend the page and enter two particular literary universes. The first was Lord of the Rings, and there he wanted to become Gandolf’s apprentice, while the second was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, and, there, he hoped to go to Hogwarts. Considering the unlikeliness of either of those occurring, harboring the desire to bed a particular supermodel really wasn’t all that crazy.

  “No, I keep it in my desk drawer at work.”

  “Next to the moist towelettes, I suspect.”

  “Very funny. I keep those in a different drawer.”

  “Well, gentle nerds, I have to go, because, as you can see, I have a very beautiful guest over and need to get dressed and go ring shopping.”

  “Shotgun—best man!” Doug yelled just a split second before Beeber.

  “That’s not fair!” Beeber complained.

  “Sorry, Beebs. Doug was first, but, just so you assholes know, I’m only kidding about ring shopping.”

  “I know, but you should marry her right fucking now, because if we can’t, then you doing it is the next best thing, as we can experience her through you. You’ll be our masturbational medium.”

  “I’m so not down with this,” I responded.

  “No, he’s totally right on this,” Beeber said.

  “Both of you have officially crossed a line here. The line where you don’t masturbate while thinking about me having sex.”

  “Don’t be such a prude,” Beeber said.

  “Hey, what do you think about a romantic Hawaiian beach wedding? Everyone could wear bikinis!” Doug interjected with legitimate enthusiasm.

  “I don’t think you or Beeber would look very appealing in bikinis—unless perhaps they were one pieces or tankinis.”

  “I’m obviously talking about the ladies, dumbass, as the guys will wear board shorts and Hawaiian shirts.”

  Doug was actually using his serious voice, and that meant I needed to cut off the call before things got even more awkward. Supermodels apparently had more influence on the male mind than I could ever imagine.

  “Maybe we could make it a double wedding. Rachel and I—and you and Fabiana,” Beeber said.

  “Why don’t you two monkey boys relax, and Fabiana and I will think about it. In the meantime, I’ll be back at Chalupa, and, if by some chance you can’t reach me, it’s because I’ve been kidnapped by the ghost king and his half-man, half-beast evil minions. Should that occur, you might want to call Greaves at the American Embassy and tell him to add me to the list of missing persons.”

  “Wait—what ghost king?” Beeber asked.

  “Long story. Have Doug tell you.”

  “You say he has evil minions?” Beeber asked.

  “Yes, and they have glowing red eyes and can see in the dark.”

  “So, they have infravsion?” he asked, sounding intrigued.

  “Once again—yes.”

  “So, obviously you have been taking magic m
ushrooms and watching Scooby Doo again,” Beeber said.

  “No, and now we really have to go.”

  “Bye, Fabiana,” Beeber and Doug said at the same time.

  “Bye, boys,” she said.

  “Ta-ta, gentle nerds,” I said, relieved to hit the end button.

  What I wouldn’t have paid to have been able to listen in on the conversation that was currently occurring between Doug and Beebs. They were pretty obsessive about their obsessions, so it wasn’t hard to imagine the banter going back and forth. Seeing a bare breasted supermodel sitting beside me was probably hard to take, especially when it was one they had both lustfully coveted in a way that bordered on pathological. This little phone call would therefore haunt them for the rest of their lives and perhaps even make me a god in their eyes.

  “So, what’s on your itinerary for today?” I asked.

  “Shopping for a wedding dress, I guess,” she said, with a smile.

  “Then I guess I really am going ring shopping, so, name the cut and karat, and I’ll buy it.”

  She looked at me dreamily for a moment, and I suspect a small part of her pondered the idea of holy matrimony. I know because I was thinking about it too. We both climbed out of bed to get dressed, and Fabiana slipped on a pair of body hugging yoga pants and an equally tight short sleeve shirt that made a lovely show of her well-tanned cleavage. Deeeee-licious. I went with shorts and a T-shirt that was nowhere near as inspiring as her outfit—to me, anyway.

  “So, what are your real plans today?” I asked.

  “Actually, I have to do some shopping then drive back to Lars’s estate. He has a business associate in town, and he always likes me to be there for official dinners.”

  “Sounds a lot better than my day. I need to talk to the American Embassy, update the head of the Archaeology Department of UCLA, then likely head back up to the Chalupa ruins to do some snooping—this time on the down-low.”

  “Well, you know where I’ll be if you get lonely.”

  “Don’t be surprised if you hear a pebble hit your window around midnight.”

  We went to the front door, and I held it open as I waited for her to exit. She stepped outside then turned to face me so that we could share a lovely departing kiss. As had been the case each time we touched lips, powerful feelings of fornication emerged, and we found ourselves engaged in some pretty serious tongue action. I reached out and pulled her body into mine and instantly felt my manhood swell and press against her. She slid her hand down my stomach and over the front of my pants and gave me a probing squeeze. It made her stop mid kiss and look up into my eyes with a lustful longing.